


Incentive

by lexi_con



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Magic, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Sitting, Frottage, Lotor (Voltron) Being an Asshole, M/M, Omega Keith (Voltron), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Spirit Animals, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-10 09:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14734238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexi_con/pseuds/lexi_con
Summary: Keith is tired of fighting a seemingly never ending war and wants a night of rest and recreation. He has no idea why the man of his fantasies appears before him, but a thirsty man doesn't say no to water.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my super indulgent ABO/spirit animal/magic sheith au. I wanted to write something of the hinges and not quite so serious while I work on more grounded projects. Either way, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Quick note about the spirit animals/Daemons (as they're known in universe):  
> Daemon -- A spirit animal tied to each person. They are an extension of their human’s soul and often reacts more honestly than their human shows, this can however be trained. The daemon belong to the same animal family as their parent, but may differ in species. The royal family of Galra all have felidae daemons. Krolia has a black leopard (a panther), but Keith has a snow leopard, for example. The gender of the daemon is an indicator to the human’s secondary gender. A male human with a male daemon is always an alpha or beta, male humans with a female daemon is almost always an omega and cannot be an alpha. Female humans with a male daemon is almost always an alpha and cannot be omega, female humans with female daemons are always omega or beta.

Keith felt the slapping tail against his shin and couldn’t agree more.

Zarkon was droning on and on about how they needed to _crush_ and _decimate_ and _ruin_ and blah, blah, blah. By the looks of it, the others around the table were having similar thoughts, his mother in particular, not even bothering to hide her dismayed expression. The only thing holding her there at this point was probably Kolivan, her brother and ever stable rock in both her and Keith’s lives. No matter their blood relation, King Zarkon wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to anyone who didn’t care for his warmongering.

The war has been dragging on far too long, and the royal family’s less important relatives are tired of putting their and their men’s life at risk in the vanguard every day. Keith is also tired, fighting had always been something he’d been good at, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

Lotor, his cousin and bening tormentor, gives him a teasing quirk of the lips from his place at the head of the table, and he has to reach down and pat Rouge so her growling doesn’t raise in volume. He’s sure he’d be getting a late night visitor that would tease him to no end about his obvious “childish behaviour”. The white haired asshole could count himself lucky that he was the crown prince, any less important stature and Keith was sure he could’ve hidden the murder as a tragic accident.

The cajoling speech from the king is interrupted by a servant crawling forward, holding a red letter. Keith and the rest of the gathering immediately recognizes it as a communication from the spies in the mountains behind enemy lines. King Zarkon falls silent as his advisor picks up the letter, a wicked grin spreading on her thin face when she’s read the information.

“My king, it seems the cowardly ruler of our enemies has finally decided to set foot onto the battlefield,” Haggar’s words makes everyone sit up a bit straighter. Kerberos’ forces hadn’t shown any sign of fatigue other than the obvious wariness that came from war, so the soldiers of the Galra empire had all assumed that they were the ones worse for wear. But if the king himself was coming it meant that their forces were suffering from lessened morale, something that shouldn’t be a problem for the side that was, by the look of things, winning.

There’s sound of movement under the table, a certain sign that everyone understood that this might be their chance.

Zarkon is the first to voice the thought, “I see. The untouchable champion is finally showing himself. It means we will have the chance to put an end to the Kerberos Royal line once and for all.”

Keith narrows his eyes. The kingdom of Kerberos was a comparably small nation, but it had an abundance of farmland and natural resources. Such a country had been targeted by numerous invaders throughout history but always managed to keep their sovereignty. According to the tales it was all thanks to the royal line that was said to be blessed by the gods with unparalleled strength and semi-immortality. A load of gibberish, since the king hadn’t shown himself until now; if he was truly so unbeatable, wouldn’t it be easier on his country and people to just face them head on the moment they arrived?

In Keith’s eyes, Kerberos was nothing more than a bragging right to the king, and a warning to other countries.

“If we can seige the unbeatable Kerberos, Altea and Russel will be turning on their bellies when our army marches up to their front door.”

Not his words, but Zarkon’s, and while few believed it, they had little to set against their king.

“The champion king has no offspring, and if the rumors stay true the royal couples only ever have one child, which would mean that there is no one else carrying the blood,” Lotor muses and his father glance at him.

“Yes, at least they won’t have anyone who can make a claim to the throne without proclaiming their status as a bastard child, or descendant of one,” Zarkon’s upper lip lift in an ugly sneer some might call a smile, “before they can find a potential successor, we will have crushed them.”

“Does this mean that the plan for tomorrow changes, your majesty?” Kolivan asks calmly, probably wanting the conversation to carry on so the fighters could get some well deserved rest. Not everyone could recline in camp all day, after all.

Keith throws a glare the royal family’s way.

“No, let them think they have the upper hand,” Zarkon holds the letter from the spies over the flame of a candle, “their morale will be crushed when they see we are prepared for their trump card.”

An uneasy hush goes through the room, because how could they be prepared for a demigod?

Assurances fly around, the squad leaders start talking among themselves and Keith can feel his face darkening with each minute passing by. His entire body feels clammy and jittery, he hadn’t had a chance to bathe since he had come back from the battle. Ulaz notices his fiddling and his daemon gives Keith a sympathetic brush against his leg. Rouge bristles at the display, and suddenly there’s a combined hiss from the other side of the table as well. His mother and Kolivan are both staring him down, telling him to calm himself, and their daemons are surely giving Rouge a similar look under the table.

Of course Lotor noticed, and he snickers behind his hand.

“Your majesty, if there is nothing else, I’m sure the fighters would like to return to the tents for rest. Today’s battle was taxing, and tomorrow is an early start,” Ulaz raised his voice, as the head medic he had a little respite in suggesting something like that without prompt, and Keith almost wants to hug him.

The royal advisor Haggar’s face turns sour, but Zarkon merely waves a hand in dismissal, “there’s nothing else to discuss at the moment. The chance of the king showing himself tomorrow is small, and either way we know he will be coming. Inform your troops tomorrow, we start the offense at dawn.”

At the king’s approval, the royals and generals around the table immediately stand, bowing before getting on their way. Keith hurries out, even if he knows he is supposed to wait for his seniors. Too bad Keith hadn’t ever put much effort into manners, much to the chagrin of his uncles. He hurries to his tent, keeping his head low and gaze focused so no one would bother him. Unfortunately he could only grab his soap and towel before he was disturbed by an all too familiar, deep tenor.

“You seem irritated, cousin,” Lotor is there to greet and grate at his nerves as soon as he steps out in the cool evening again. The sleek, light yellow bay cat at his side inched closer to Rouge, who was laying her ears back flat in warning.

Keith let out a sigh that is, yes, irritated, “I had a _long_ day. I just wanna wash off and go to sleep, so _excuse me_ , your highness.”

Lotor is undaunted, like always, and comes closer despite Keith’s obvious aggravation. God damned alpha princelings, thinking they could do whatever they wanted just because. Thankfully Lotor refrains from touching—Keith was _not_ above stabbing royal hands if he had to—but he leans in, taking a deep breath so close to Keith’s neck he can feel the rush of air.

“Is it that time again? You’re sure you don’t want me to help? If you share my bed you don’t have to go into battle while smelling like...this,” Lotor punctuates his offer with another sniff and Keith grumbles.

“I don’t like the idea of sending my friends and family out into battle without being there to help, unlike _some_ people,” Keith hisses and ducks away, putting some distance between himself and his cousin.

Lotor just shakes his head and shrugs, “your loss, dear cousin.”

Keith rolls his eyes and walks away, just barely resisting the urge to flip a finger in the prince’s direction. By now most soldiers have gone to bed and only the guards are outside, so there isn’t much of a fuzz when he exit camp and head out into the woods. There is an actual tent meant to be the baths, but Keith doesn’t find the thought of sharing grimy water with dozens other soldiers all that appealing. Besides, he was one of the best fighters, he could handle himself if he was ambushed. Though the chance of an ambush happening now wasn’t that big, not when he had been going out into the forest for months without any incidents happening.

He has to walk far, and dangerously near the border to Kerberos, but it’s worth it when he can hear the calming sound of the river flowing gently. Rouge purrs in delight, jumping ahead to get in first. Her splashes echo in the quiet night, but Keith doesn’t care to chide her for it. She did a good job today, and was deserving of a little reprieve. Just like Keith could feel his body aching for a bit of rest and recreation.

He lays his soap and towel on the ground before he starts to undress, letting his belts fall to the floor, the sweeping fabric held in place by his hip guards falling with a soft noise. Next was his leg armour and chestplate, falling away from his body with a heavy thump. Immediately he felt lighter, his body still wasn’t fully accustomed to the restricting protection. Still he wasn’t going to act as if it hadn’t saved his life, on the front line agility and speed wasn’t the only thing that you needed if you wanted to stay alive.

As soon as he was down to his clothes he quickly threw them off, not caring where they landed before he went forward and dipped a toe in the cold water. He shivered, but Rouge was looking expectantly at him, and he knew she should splash him if he didn’t get in. She knew better than anyone that he needed a bath, so he steels himself and submerges. It isn’t so bad, after the initial drop in temperature settles. The days are warm and the water is still bearable, even if the summer is coming to an end soon.

Keith frowns at the thought. He’d been out here since the last days of spring, midsummer had come and gone while the ground turned red from the blood of the soldiers that try to break the stalemate between the two sides. The empire hadn’t managed to push into Kerberos itself, only crossing the no man’s land in baby steps, to where they were now, the only way into the country being the narrow crack in an impressively steep mountain range. But the fortress that stood in their way was formidable with a wide moat filled with sulfur water and a wall made of metal enforced granite. There were also spikes and blades poking out from the bottom of the wall, so there was no way past it other than the front gate.

King Zarkon had joined them a week ago, frustrated and bloodthirsty when he realized just how big a disadvantage his troops had. The first of the strategists that suggested they wait with conquering Kerberos until the neighbouring Altea was under Galra rule had had their neck snapped in a fit of rage. Retreat wasn’t an option and not for the first time Keith wished he had been born in literally any other country than his homeland. Or at least, not as one of the princes of said empire. Sure he only shared great grandparents with Lotor, but in rank he was still a prince of sorts and as such he was forced to bring his share of use to the war effort.

“Unlike _some_ ,” he mutters bitterly again, because he _knows_ the king and his precious son won’t be going out onto the field until the battle is won. If Keith and his mom, or any of his other relatives that he actually _cares_ about fall, the king wouldn’t give a damn. At most he would be inconvenienced that a commander had to be replaced.

Sometimes Keith wonders why he even fights for the Galra, why he doesn’t just convince his family to run away and ally with some other country. But then again, _who_ would be generous enough to take in the very people who placed thousands of families in the hands of grief?

Sensing his feeling of hopelessness, Rouge butts her head against his shoulder. Her fluffy coat is matted from the water, but her soft gesture is welcomed either way. Keith smiles and pats her head, feeling her pleased purr vibrating through her entire body. She’s always there to pull him away from the depressing thoughts about his life, and for a few hours each night he can pretend like he _isn’t_ doing the devil’s work by day.

While Keith doesn’t use the soap on her fur, he washes her thoroughly, removing any left over dirt and blood from the spotted hairs. Her eyes are closed in bliss while he massages her scalp, and her calm translated over to him, leaving him sleepy and content. When he’s sure she is in nothing but a pristine state Keith reaches for his soap to wash himself, but just as he picks it up he hears a rustling at the other edge of the small river.

Tensing, Keith pretends like he didn’t hear anything and picks up a stone instead, pretending as if he’s washing himself with it. If Rouge notices she’s doing an excellent job at pretending not to with the way she’s blissfully floating in the water. He makes little noise as he pretends to wash, just in case he would hear another rustle or breaking branch, but the night is once again quiet, until he’s dragging his hand across his chest and he can hear a distant but loud purring. Without hesitation Keith flings the stone in the direction of the noise, springing up from the water when it connects and he hears an animalistic, pained yelp.

He has his knife at the ready, and Rouge--who had _finally_ noticed something was up--glides out of the water to join him with her hackles raised. Keith hears hushed whispers and disgruntled growls from the darkness, but nothing comes flying at him in retaliation. He tries to hear what’s being said, but he can only hear the general tone of the voice, categorizing it as male. He does not claim to know the voice of every man in the world, but Keith doesn’t _think_ it sounds familiar.

He gets his answer soon though, when a tall, broad shouldered man in casual wear steps out into what little moonlight there is. In the darkness any detail is hard to make out, but Keith easily recognizes the build of a fighter, with muscles straining the fabric covering them at every movement. But his hands are raised, and they’re empty.

“Sorry, it seems we had the same idea,” this unknown man said calmly, and Keith has half the mind to try and run, but he wouldn’t return to camp _completely naked_ if he could help it. So he was going to gauge the threat, and either eliminate it or chase it away so he could dress in peace.

“We’re just here for a bath, same as you, soldier of Galra,” the man says and Keith stiffens.

It’s a soldier of Kerberos. But why would a man of the country they are trying to invade come out from the safe cover of their barricade for a _bath_?

Probably sensing his scepticism, the man shrugs, “I saw the river on a map. I’m tired of being cooped up like a chicken, so I snuck out for a taste of freedom.”

“You talk as if you’re a prisoner,” Keith managed between clenched teeth. Rouge pulls up her lip and hisses in warning at the man, not trusting him anymore than Keith does.

“With the largest empire in the world knocking at your door you’d feel kind of cornered too, right?” well, yeah, that makes sense, “I’m not here to fight or anything, I just want to bathe. Kuro has been looking forward to it the entire day.”

Keith lowers his blade a fraction but his eyes are still narrow with suspicion, “where’s your daemon?”

“Right here,” the man steps to the side and two yellow, glowing eyes stare back at him. Rouge does a low, nervous sound when she sees, and Keith matches her when the daemon steps up, standing at its master’s side.

A large tiger, coat white with black stripes, stands in the night. In its mouth it is holding some kind of cloth, but all Keith sees is the sheer _size_ of it. It’s so big, easily more than twice Rouge’s size, reaching the hip of the man that was by no means small either. He’d never seen a feline daemon so large, and his entire family had them.

His shock must be painfully obvious because the large tiger lays down, leisurely laying on its side, as if Keith and his tiny kitten wasn’t a threat at all. He would have been offended, but he was honestly just glad that the large beast wasn’t charging him.

“See, we only want to take it easy, alright?” the man beckons, turning around to show that he indeed was unarmed, “you can keep the knife, if that makes you feel safe.”

“I decide whether I want my knife or not,” Keith shot back immediately, and the man seems taken aback by his outburst.

“Of course, I just meant that I take no offence if you want to hold on to it while I’m reclining in the water,” the man explains, “so, may I join you?”

Keith still isn’t totally believing this man’s words, but he finds himself unable to deny an honest request. Besides, he isn’t here to fight either, and he isn’t getting paid enough to try and overpower someone with a daemon that probably weighs more in pure muscle than himself.

“I don’t mind. But stay on your side,” Keith warns, leveling the stranger with a glare.

“Thank you kindly,” the man has laughter in his voice, but Keith decides not to comment when he sees what the stranger looks like under the loose cotton shirt he had worn. He wonders if it is the moonlight, but those are some _serious_ pecs and abs. The wonders only continue as he pulls off his trousers, beautiful, shapely legs revealing themselves to Keith’s adjusting vision. Had he not been from behind enemy lines Keith would have considered climbing that fine man like a tree.

As the cherry on top, the man takes off his underwear and Keith has to _swallow_.

Hard.

Keith sinks back into the water to hide his obvious appreciation of the body in front of him. Rouge follows, but instead of letting the water carry her she stands and waits, her guard up. The tiger is staring intently at her, and Keith only hopes it’s not because he sees her as a threat.

“They’re beautiful,” the man says as he wades into the water, “what’s their name?”

“Her name is Rouge,” Keith says quietly, inching closer to his daemon in a protective gesture.

Now when the stranger is closer Keith can see his face, and is it a sight to behold. A strong, angular jaw shape his face. Full, pale lips look like they’re fit certain activities beautifully, and Keith has to lick his own as he lets a brief picture of how they’d fit against his skin pass through his mind. But what’s most striking is the silver gaze that is piercing through him like a blade, lined by a flattering row of lashes and thick brows. Honestly he was a masterpiece, and Keith had never been so bitter about the war as in this moment.

Wanting your enemy to bend you over backwards and fuck you into the ground wasn’t approved war protocol, after all.

“Is it alright if Kuro joins?” the stranger asks, his gaze unwavering from Keith.

“Huh?” Keith startles at the question, but sees the tiger perk up and understands, “oh, yeah. Sure.”

The tiger stands up at the permission, dropping what it had been holding before stalking towards the water. Just like before, it’s huge, and its eyes are not leaving Rouge’s. She stands her ground as the tiger sinks into the water, its nose almost reaching Rouge as it stretches. The water is too shallow for the tiger to sink in completely, but is seems content enough, laying like a dam across the river, still entirely focused on the snow leopard in front of it. Still, its tail is relaxed, and it doesn’t look like it is going to pounce.

Rouge seems to have the same idea, because she also lowers herself to the same level, carefully leaning forward to sniff at the much bigger cat. Gods, she’s so _small_ and she won’t stand a chance if anything happens and—

“They’re getting along,” the stranger says suddenly, and Keith snaps his attention back to him, “Kuro rarely takes to anyone so quickly.”

“Why is he named Kuro? Seems like a contradiction, with him being white and all,” Keith asks and wants to kick himself for asking something so stupid. He’d named Rouge for the colour of her pinkish eyes, but it was stupid to assume everyone had so little fantasy.

But the stranger just laughs, grins, “black is the second colour of his scheme, and Shiro was already taken.”

Keith tilts his head in question, “by whom?”

“Me,” the stranger points to himself, “my friends call me Shiro.”

Getting on familiar terms would be a mistake, because Keith already found himself aquainted too intimately with the bulging muscles shaping the man’s body, “and your enemies?”

“I don’t know, what do you want to call me?” Shiro gives him a lopsided smile and Keith hopes the light is monochrome enough to hide the way it makes his cheeks heat.

_I would like to call you Illegal, or Devil, because being so handsome must break some kind of civil or divine law._

“Nothing, we’re not supposed to know each other,” Keith says while his gaze flicks between Shiro and his daemon, “after all, I have orders to kill any Kerberian I can.”

“Oh? So why haven’t you?” Shiro asks, clearly not daunted by the threat.

Keith shrugs, “I don’t work when the sun isn’t up and the king isn’t watching.”

“Seems the Galran army has a discipline problem,” Shiro says as he reaches for something by the pile of his clothes.

“Sounds like you enjoy killing too much,” Keith mutters and takes a small joy in how the other stiffens at his comment.

“Quite the opposite, in fact. Why do you think the Galra army still stands? The people of Kerberos don’t think death is the answer, unlike the Galra,” Shiro settles back in the water, his silver eyes sharp as steel when he meets Keith’s gaze again.

“And not all Galra go by victory or death either, but what choice do I have when the King is breathing down my neck?” Keith draws his knees towards himself, “I’m not the only one who’d be punished.”

Shiro’s frame relaxes, and there’s something oddly wistful in his expression after Keith said his piece, “yeah, you’re right. That’s war, it’s always you or them.”

“Mm, and our king is a stubborn piece of shit, so it has to be us,” Keith shrugs, “it’s nothing personal, for me anyway.”

Shiro nods and lathers the soap he had picked up earlier. It smells wonderful, the earthy scent carrying over to Keith’s nose after a few seconds. Much better than his own standardized one that was similar to low quality butter. He doesn’t bother to hide his envy, and Shiro takes notice.

“Do you want some?” he asks, holding the soap forward, and for the first time Keith sees the tattoos lining the skin. They’re faint, as if they had faded over the years, and crooked, as if the skin had stretched after they were made. Still, Keith decides not to mind. Maybe it was some kind of ritual in Kerberos, like the facial tattoos of the Galra. If Shiro hadn’t commented on the single line running from his cheek down to his collarbone, Keith would return the favour and shut up.

“Well?” Shiro prompts by beckoning with his hand, and the soap does smell _really_ nice…

“Sure,” Keith says and leans forward. He crawls a few steps before reaching out, fingers tingling when he brush against Shiro’s hand upon retrieving the soap. Just as their hands touch a low purring makes Keith shiver, and he blushes at how honest his daemon is. But the honesty is paid in kind, because a darker, more powerful purring nearly overcomes Rouge’s.

Keith glances at their daemons, seeing how Rouge was headbutting the tiger, trying to get him to do the same to her. Oh, why didn’t he listen to his uncles when they warned him that honesty might not always be a good thing?

“Just because our daemons do something, it doesn’t mean we have to, if you feel it is wrong,” Shiro’s soft assurance makes Keith whip around again, and _oh_.

The look Shiro pins him with tells Keith that neither of them would _really_ mind.

Rouge leaps up from the water, and Kuro is following close behind, and _wow_ she really is tiny in comparison. Even with her tail she’s barely longer than half of the tigers full length, and she only reaches up to his knee, but still the tiger makes no move to overwhelm her. He dances around her, letting her playfully bite and paw at him, as if testing. Her tail swishes back and forth, quivering ever so often when the tiger carefully makes a swing at her. It’s as if Rouge doesn’t realize she could be crushed by those large paws as easily as she kills a mouse, and Keith suddenly remembers that he is in a similar situation.

The water stirs, and Keith turns just in time to see Shiro moving closer.

“You’re an omega,” Shiro whispers, his voice full of awe and nostrils flaring as he leans closer, deep breaths being let out in quick puffs to take in _more_. Keith wonders if it’s his instincts having a wild moment, but Shiro seems like he’s trying to _devour_ the mere scent of him.

“And you’re an alpha,” Keith whispers because even if he can’t feel Shiro’s personal scent beneath the newly used soap, it’s obvious enough just by looking. And watching. And _feeling_.

A shiver runs up Keith’s hand when he realizes he has reached for the other, grasping a thick wrist that he couldn’t close his fingers around. His heart is hammering, because this is _such a bad idea_ he’s having, and judging by the pulse he can feel under his fingers, Shiro is thinking the same. But neither pulls away, and the decision is made even before Shiro asks.

“Just for a night?”

Keith nods, “just for _tonight_.”

Like his daemon, Shiro waits until Keith comes to him, and Keith can’t help but find the gesture flattering. The water carries him, and Keith can pretend that is why he fits so nicely against Shiro’s chest when his nose brush over Shiro’s collarbone.

The scent of the soap is still fresh, but it isn’t distinct, and Keith realizes with a rush of excitement that Shiro doesn’t smell like the soap, but the soap smells like _Shiro_ . A pleased groan rumbles in Keith’s chest, because his instincts _really_ like this one, this alpha. And the sentiment is mutual, judging by how Shiro stiffens in an attempt to stop himself from grabbing onto Keith without permission.

Taking pity, and being a vain idiot, Keith grabs Shiro’s head and forces the other’s nose up against his own scent gland in his neck. He knows he smells good, many has told him so, often in a try to throw him off, but Keith can’t help but wanting to hear Shiro say it.

So when muscular arms wrap tightly around his abdomen to pull him closer, Keith smiles in self-satisfaction. Shiro’s teeth scrape against the skin just above Keith’s scent gland, teasing it to release even more of the fragrance, and Shiro lavishes his tongue over the spot when he’s gotten what he wanted, tasting the pheromone oil that was beading. It’s the first time anyone has ever touched him like that, and Keith grows so sensitive he jumps at the slightest of shifts against his skin. But Shiro is keeping him still, huffing when Keith squirms under the assault on his neck. A dark bruise is slowly forming over his gland, and Keith knows he _should_ stop the other, but the attention just feels _so good_.

Judging by the hard cock pressing against his lower stomach, Shiro enjoys giving the pleasure as much as Keith likes receiving it.

And Keith isn’t a dead fish, so he rolls his hips, grinding their cocks together and marvels in the sheer difference in their sizes. Shiro is almost twice as big as him, and Keith can’t stop the shudder that runs through him when he imagines how Shiro could utterly _wreck_ him. If he wanted, the other could just force Keith down onto his cock, or hold him down into the ground and fuck him like a whore.

The scariest thing is that Keith doesn’t think he’d stop Shiro from doing it.

But tonight is an act of necessity, two wary individuals seeking to escape reality for a moment. The fantasy he had conjured could be stored away for later use, when he was alone in the throes of his sexual frustration and devoid of muscly enemies to fuck. So, Keith lets out a calming breath before he lowers his head to Shiro’s ear, teasing the sensitive skin with gentle, barely-there touches of his lips. Shiro groans in approval, large hands splaying out over Keith’s lower back. Short nails drags burning marks into his ass cheeks and Keith takes a shuddering breath when the water touches his hot entrance. He’s already wet, but the slick is immediately dissolved in the stream, and Shiro makes a displeased noise when his fingers discover the same fact.

“Out,” Shiro mutters, and without warning takes a steadying grip on Keith’s buttocks before abruptly standing up. Keith doesn’t _squeal_ , but does make a noise in surprise and clings onto the muscular shoulders holding his weight. Shiro barely leaves the water before he’s placing his nose on Keith’s neck again, but his hands doesn’t leave the firm muscles of his ass. Instead, he uses the opportunity to spread the cheeks, and Keith mewls as he feels the tip of Shiro’s fingers massage around his rim.

While being held by nothing more than his partner’s strong arms is nice, Keith appreciates the soft grass under him when Shiro lays him down. And he appreciate the strong, broad body that crawls on top of him even more.

Warm lips kisses along his jaw and Keith willingly tilts his head, teeth digging into his own bottom lip when he feels Shiro’s hips slot over his thigh. The miniscule rutting against his legs makes his stomach knot into an excited mess just as much as the feeling of shifting muscles under his palms does. With every move, Keith feels how Shiro’s god-like muscles shift, and he can _feel_ the amount of power contained in this man. Keith is only glad he’s finding out _this_ way, rather than the alternative.

The thought tugs at Keith’s mind just as Shiro presses a finger over Keith’s slick entrance, groaning in appreciation and letting his hips stutter with eagerness. Instincts tells Keith to keen in response, to let the alpha know that _yes, please do more, I’m ready for you_ , but his rational side starts up in overdrive as it hits him.

“You can’t fuck me,” Keith manages to breathe out, and Shiro halts to a stop.

Groaning in typical dejected alpha fashion, Shiro nudges his nose against Keith’s collarbone in a show of insistence, “why not?”

Keith gently tilts Shiro’s face up, finding his dark, hungry gaze, “just because I’m letting you touch me it does _not_ mean I want to be knocked up by a Kerberian.”

Something wild passes over Shiro’s face, and Keith shudders when he realizes it’s the image of his stomach round, growing with each day as he carries Shiro’s child within him. If they weren’t on opposite sides of a war, Keith would entertain the fantasy a bit more.

“This is not the first time I’m cursing the Galra,” Shiro growls, and Keith is oddly charmed.

“Such a flatterer,” Keith muses before he pushes at Shiro to roll them over. Keith settles on top after Shiro obediently lays down on his back, thighs squeezing around the generously muscled abdomen of the Kerberian. Keith makes sure to sit so that he can feel Shiro’s cock pressing in the crack between his ass cheeks, using the slightest pressure to grind down and alleviate both their arousals.

Shiro moans as his cock is covered in slick, his body stuttering with effort to let Keith set the pace, to not give in to the deeper instinct that tells him to take all that he can. The effort is appreciated, and Keith repays it by racking his hands down the toned chest, his nails leaving red, marred skin in their wake. Keith matches the generous movement with his pelvic, grinding the tip of the member pressing against him to his wet entrance and Shiro’s hands squeeze Keith’s hips with warning.

“You shouldn’t start something that you don’t want to go through with,” Shiro growls, but the look on his face holds no anger. Rather, he looks like he’s enjoying the little torture show Keith is submitting him to.

Keith let his lip tug up in a smirk before he sits back, resting his weight on Shiro’s cock, legs quivering with the exhilaration. He lays a hand on his lower stomach, fingers playing with the curly hair at the base of his small cock, “if I hadn’t been at my peak tonight, I _definitely_ would have wanted it.”

Shiro lets out a sound that is a mix between a whine and grumble, and his hips jerk, as if he could bury his cock into Keith’s tight, hot hole.

“Poor little Kerberian, are you so desperate you can’t hold still?” Keith teases and resumes his grinding, leaning forward just by the smallest amount so his balls gets covered in the precum leaking from Shiro’s cock as he moves.

The sense of superiority Keith is holding over the other disappear as quickly as Shiro’s hand is on his neck, pulling him down to bare his neck to sharp fangs that nip at his adam’s apple, “what about you, _Galra_?”

Keith shudders, and wishes he could hide it better, but he knows Shiro caught it, his mouth stretches in a smirk against Keith’s skin before he is roughly pulled up by his hips. With a yelp he’s lifted up so instead of Shiro’s cock between his legs, is his _face_. Silver eyes glint mischievously in the moonlight and Keith is a moment too late in realizing what Shiro is going to do. He slaps his hands over his mouth to stop the loud moan from slipping unhindered into the night when a warm tongue licks over his entrance in a long, savouring movement.

Keith tries his best to hold his own weight, but Shiro is insistent, holding him down so he’s basically _sitting_ on that angular jaw. But any protest he might have dies in his throat, replaced with moans and gasps of pleasure as Shiro’s talented tongue tastes and devours every ounce of slick that Keith’s body can offer. Keith thought the sparks flying across his vision when Shiro’s tongue enters his ass was the peak, but then Shiro _sucks_ and the sparks explode into a white light that nearly knocks him out.

The world falls out of focus, and Keith can only feel the coil that has been tightening within him spring loose in sweet, sweet release, and how Shiro is moaning even as Keith slumps forward. Shiro’s tongue is fucking him through the throes of orgasm, leaving Keith a quivering mess by the time he’s regained enough sense to be embarrassed over coming so quickly.

“H-hey,” Keith weakly tries, seeing how Shiro’s eyes are glazed over in an almost post-orgasmic haze, “ _ah_ , e-enough already.”

A bit of clarity returns to Shiro’s gaze at the stuttering, and he loosens his grip enough that Keith can crawl away, collapsing down on the ground as soon as he won’t be accidentally kneeing Shiro in the face in doing so. He lays on the cold grass, catching his breath, body twitching with the leftover endorphins, wondering when the last time was that he came so suddenly. But the alpha doesn’t leave much time for contemplation.

Shiro is immediately up as well, licking his glistening lips of the lingering taste and warmth pools in Keith’s stomach— _alpha likes my taste._ The hungry stare that Shiro is pining him with makes him compliant as the larger man climbs on top of him again, but this time his legs are pulled up and thrown over one of Shiro’s ridiculously broad shoulders.

“My turn?” the question _should_ be a formality at this point, but the hopeful look in Shiro’s eyes makes Keith think that he’d have the option to refuse.

Not that he wanted to, but still.

Nodding, Keith spreads his legs a little, “come, alpha.”

A broken, happy groan leaves Shiro before he pushes his cock in between Keith’s thighs, squeezing them together with his large, strong arms. Shiro lift Keith’s hips and angle his own, moving in languid, controlled movements as his cock rubs over Keith’s slick entrance, easing the friction as the natural lube spreads with each thrust. Shiro’s silver eyes are staring at the yield of the soft flesh around Shiro’s cock as if in trance, and Keith lets out a purr of content. The burning sensation of _too much_ is subsiding to a want for _more_ and Keith makes it clear by tensing his muscles, both feeling and seeing the alpha’s control slipping when he thrusts forward so hard their thighs slap together. With a whimper, Keith realizes Shiro’s cock is longer than his thighs are thick, and gods he wants it inside, inside, insideinsid _insideinsideinside—_

“ _Alpha_ ,” Keith moans and Shiro looks up, the silver of his iris giving way to content black, “give me more.”

Shiro probably breathes a yes as he moves, but Keith can’t hear it over his own voice. Punishing, that’s the way Shiro rocks against him, cock pressing down on his own and giving delicious pressure that isn’t quite enough, not completely out of control. The slow but _hard_ thrusts fools his body, and Keith’s entrance soaks both their sexes in slick, so utterly convinced that if he’s just wet enough the alpha will push _inside_.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” Keith fights the pleasure to listen to the strained words, but when he registers them, his body shudders and says that yes, so wet, wet _for you, alpha._ His eyes betray him, because he can see how Shiro reads his mind, hears the pleas his body utters, so he closes them. The husky laugh that Shiro can’t really suppress makes butterflies flutter around the steadily building heat in Keith’s stomach, and he should wonder why he isn’t bothered. But the increasing speed of the thrusts against his thighs _is_ a good distraction.

“Such a good omega,” Shiro whispers, one of his large, warm hands stroking down Keith’s leg, over his stomach, up his chest and over a nipple, only to settle with gentle pressure over his neck. It’s so careful that Keith’s instincts insist that it should be _rougher._

But such play is for between someone closer than a one night stand, so Keith beats down his instincts and instead digs his nails into the skin over Shiro’s knees, desperate to have something to hold on to as the alpha increases the pace, hips slapping against Keith’s sloppy thighs as he thrusts harder, harder _harder._

Keith throws his head back, feeling how he isn’t going to last much longer, and arches his back. The hand around his throat tightens just so, and Keith almost forgets that he can still breathe as Shiro grinds forward and _down_ , grinding against Keith’s balls and cock in a wonderful, obscene way. The last drop comes when Shiro pulls his hand away from Keith’s neck, instead wrapping around their cocks, squeezing them together as Shiro continues to grind his hips.

Keith moans loudly, barely aware that he comes as all he can feel is how much _bigger_ Shiro is within the confines of Shiro’s hand. But the waves of pleasure wash over him in retroactivation when Shiro matches his noice, a ragged moan leaving him as orgasm racked through his body. Warm cum squirt in thick ribbons over Keith’s stomach, and Shiro is squeezing Keith’s legs so hard he’ll make a mark, but Keith doesn’t care. All he cares about is the thick cum all over his body, and he swipes some of it up with his fingers, bringing it to his mouth to have a taste.

Shiro’s unfocused gaze returns to full sharpness when Keith brings his fingers to his mouth and dips them inside. The tangy taste makes Keith moan, and Shiro sucks a deep breath when Keith opens his mouth to show how he’s taking _everything_ he can get.

“Good, alpha,” Keith says when he can see that Shiro’s lost in the fantasy of giving Keith _more_ to taste.

Shiro blinks and frowns a little over the blush that dusts his cheeks, “don’t tempt me, unless you want to go another round.”

While the offer is very tempting, Keith can feel the fatigue of a day on the battlefield and two orgasms creep up on him. In defeat Keith relaxes and let his hands fall to the ground, sighing when the cold hit his moist skin when Shiro pulls away. He looks over to Rouge, and she’s contently resting beneath the large tiger that is grooming her. The implication doesn’t occur to him before he can feel himself being lifted off the ground in a princess hold, held tight to Shiro’s chest as the alpha goes back into the water.

“What are you doing?” Keith doesn’t have energy to protest when he’s set down in the water that feels much colder now that he had been so warm.

“I imagine you don’t want to go back to camp dirtier than when you came,” Shiro said in amusement as he sat down and propped Keith in front of him, “or do you plan to kill me now that you got what you wanted?”

Keith snorts at Shiro’s playful tone.

“As I said,” Keith mumbles as he crawls into Shiro’s lap, tilting the handsome man’s chin back to expose his throat, “I don’t work after dark.”

“And your king isn’t looking,” Shiro finishes and leans his head the way Keith wants him to, leaving a nice portion of neck to bury his nose against. He just hums a confirming syllable before he melts against Shiro, finding comfort in his scent and warmth. If Shiro is surprised or minds having an armful of omega in his lap he doesn’t mention it, just starts to wash Keith to the best of his ability without jostling him too much.

Keith almost falls asleep as he rests against Shiro, only absently registering _where_ Shiro touches him, just that he does and that it feels good. Every time he’d fooled around he sought out closeness and comfort in the aftermath, and Shiro had been the first to quietly sit and accept and reciprocate. Not that he had many experiences, but there’s just something about this gorgeous man that puts Keith at ease, and Rouge’s comfort also spills over to him.  

So while Keith is drifting in the borderland between asleep and awake, Shiro washes him. Keith somewhere in the back of his head knows he shouldn’t be getting so chummy with an enemy, but the ship has already sailed, and the thoughts doesn’t actually connect to his more rational brain parts that will be panicking about this in the morning.

Or right now, actually.

Keith almost slips off Shiro’s shoulder and by effect, his body sends a small dose of adrenaline into his system, virtually kicking him into a more lucid state. Shiro merely chuckles under his breath and scoops some water to rinse out soap from Keith’s hair. Shiro’s soap.

Oh god, he smells like Shiro.

Keith jerks away, putting an arm’s distance between them, even if he’s still seated on Shiro’s rock hard thighs. Shiro holds his hands up, much like he had when he first had appeared, but look a lot more apprehended than that time. It would be comical, if Keith wasn’t freaking out about the fact that he’s letting an alpha— _a Kerberian—_ he doesn’t really know groom him.

“I-I have to go,” Keith stammers and backs away, immediately looking away and pretending not to see the confused hurt on Shiro’s face, “don’t we both have somewhere to be tomorrow?”

Keith doesn’t wait for an answer before he dunks his head under the water to try and quickly scrub out any leftover suds from his hair. He has to get away, go to sleep and try to suppress this night into the realm of dreams; the alpha that had pulled at and brought out his instincts would have to fade into fantasy. Too bad said man was very real and still only a few meters away when Keith got out of the water to dry himself.

He feels the heavy silver gaze trace the lines of his body as he dries off and wonder how a look can hold such weight. When he pulls on his underwear again he finally hears the water stir and surmises that Shiro is getting out. He looks over to where Rouge is still in complete bliss as Kuro licks and cleans the fur around her neck, and Keith blushes at his obvious desire to be treated the same way.

(He tries to ignore the little voice that tells him that Shiro wants that too.)

Instead, he focuses with an unnecessary intensity on his armour and all its clasps and openings, getting in to it to try and somehow convince his stupid instincts to re-erect the barriers Shiro had so easily taken down. At least, he could _act_ as if he wasn’t feeling so naked with clothes on.

“If I see you tomorrow, I _will_ kill you,” Keith says over his shoulder as he fasten the last hook of his belt. He tries not to think the words _even if I don’t want to_.

“You can try,” Shiro mocks good heartedly, and Kuro makes one last rub against Rouge before he trots away to his master’s side, “if I don’t take you down first.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat? Didn’t know Kerberians were capable of it,” Keith turns and crosses his arms, because he has to try and close himself of _somehow_ when Shiro was so easy to just _let in_.

“It’s a promise,” nothing about Shiro is menacing as he says it, but Keith still tighten his arms against himself to suppress a shiver.

“Goodnight,” Keith finally manages when he pulls himself together, and before he can stop his traitorous mouth, “Shiro.”

Something-- _no don’t look at me like that_ \--softens Shiro’s gaze, and a small smile tease the corner of his lips as Keith turns away in panic.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

It had been a mistake.

A stupid, horrible mistake that he cannot blame anyone but himself for.

The enemy was to remain faceless, moving dolls that stood in your way without any meaningful connection to this world. Soldiers must not go out into the battlefield wishing they didn’t meet a certain someone.

Yet Keith had woken up thinking _I hope I don’t see Shiro today._

It had been ingrained in him since he was a child, and while he still hadn’t achieved the same level of stoic in the face of death as his uncles and mother, he had performed his duties as a soldier for years. Sure he tries to wound and incapacitate instead of straight up kill, but often he wasn’t left much of a choice. The war against Kerberos was surprisingly bloodless, but that was only because they could rely on their natural defence more than their troops. When the Galran army came too close for comfort, the Kerberians attacked.

“Keith, are you alright?” Krolia calls from the mess tent, her panther watching him with intent eyes from within.

“Yeah, just great,” Keith shrugs, “I already ate.”

She sees through him, she’s his mother and has an uncanny ability to _almost_ read minds (Keith still isn’t absolutely sure she  _can’t_ ), and throws an apple at him, “well, eat some more. Going hungry doesn’t make the battle any easier.”

He watches her march away, towards the meeting for officers, and wonder which battle she really means.

Not that Keith has a long time to ponder it, he’s thrown out into the battlefield as soon as the first rays of sun peek over the Kerberos mountainside. He’s working on too little sleep and food, but he’ll power through; he’s been in worse condition against tougher enemies and won’t be dying out here.

Instead he runs ahead, joining his uncle Kolivan and Antok with their daemons in the forefront. The head on assault was just a diversion though. Covert agents laid in wait for the fighting to reach its peak before approaching the wall of the Kerberian border fortress with explosives. It was a risky tactic, both for the vanguard and the bombers, but their king wanted results and desperate times called for desperate measures.

They were able to cross almost a third of the no man’s land before the Kerberians sounded the alarm. Honestly, did they not think they’d be attacked so early or what?

But regardless, they were quick to mobilize and soldiers started to pour out over the bridge hanging above the sulfur ditch. At the beginning of the summer the Kerberians hadn’t even bothered coming out to face their enemies head on, but since the Galra started using rockets to try and damage the wall they had come face to face with the army.

Not that it made much difference, Keith was almost just going through the motions at this point. The Kerberians mainly fought with naginata, a weapon meant for defense and with an advantage against swords. Too bad for them that the difference in skill basically turned their perceived advantage against them. Keith didn’t bother to count the times he’d gotten inside the range of the blade, and by then it was too late for whoever he’d approached.

Harder to defend against though, where archers.

Keith had just barely missed being hit by chance, having stepped back to let Rouge tear out a spiked club user’s heel tendon. Without ado, Keith searched for the ranger, finding him positioned at the back, close to the sulfur water grave. Obviously, as any archer worth their pay, he noticed that Keith had spotted him and loaded another arrow, but this time Keith had initiative. Sure the distance was quite long, but he ran at full speed through the crowd, dodging between other fights, throwing off the archer and making it impossible for him to shoot without risking hitting one of his own. With every step forward Keith gains more of the advantage, and the archer knows it too. So he makes a guess just as Keith is about to emerge from the thick of the fighting, and misses.

Triumphantly, Keith sends Rouge forward, and she leaps at the archer’s shoulder where his falcon daemon had been sitting, if only to get the thing away so it doesn’t peck his eyes out when he goes to stab its master. But apparently his plan was obvious, so while the falcon flies away and the archer stumbles away from an aggressive snow leopard that just jumped at him, and raises his bow in defense. Keith’s arm is already swinging down, and he’s blocked just short of the tip of his blade sinking into the archer’s shoulder muscles.

“Holy shit!” the archer exclaims, and Keith is taken by surprise when the archer twists his bow, catching Keith’s blade against it and makes both of them fall to the floor, even only if the archer falls because he wasn’t expecting Keith’s weight.

They tumble to come out on top, and the archer is keenly aware of Keith’s knife, so focused on it that he doesn’t see when Keith takes up another, shorter knife with his other hand. When he eventually has the archer down, Keith raises his hand to plunge his knife into the other’s chest, but a deafening roar stops him mid motion. Before he can regain his bearings he’s knocked to the ground by a massive weight that quickly pins him face down into the ground.

It felt like an eternity, the way he could feel warm breath and saliva dripping down over his neck was like in slow motion. Still, even as he feels the press of teeth against his neck, Keith is unable to move, as if the roar just a few seconds earlier had paralyzed him. He closes his eyes, waiting for the quick snap of pain before he’ll be standing in a burning pit of flames, but it never comes. Instead, whatever daemon that is on top of him hesitates, for just a moment too long. Keith hears the loud screech of Rouge, and the animal on top of him yells in pain before getting away from Keith.

As soon as the weight is off Keith regains his bearings, scrambling to get up on his own two feet to see if he should just _run_. He quickly scans for the archer who has scrambled away, but more important is the white tiger that stands just a short distance away, a small blotch of red dying a patch of white in its face red.

_Oh no._

The thought is there even before he realizes what he is looking at, and his gaze shifts, unconditionally drawn to the bridge.

There, in steel armor and a deep purple mantle lined with white fur, topped with a light crown in gold, stands the King of Kerberos.

There, with silver eyes and an aura of regency, crowned with Keith’s regrets, stands Shiro.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't just lust and bad decisions that plague Keith. Emotions erupt, and measures are taken.

Keith doesn’t flinch when Ulaz ties the compress tight around his arm. The gash wasn’t that deep, but it forced Keith to go to the medics unless he wanted it to get infected. It probably would have taken his arm if it hadn’t been for Kolivan, who had pulled him out of the way just as sharp claws slashed at him.

Kuro’s claws.

Keith had been so frozen in shock, by the tiger’s roar and by the vision of Shiro clad in royal adornments, that he couldn’t compute the fact that he had to move. True to their words just a few hours prior, Keith became nothing more than an enemy to be slain to defend the border. Kuro had launched at him and he was too slow to react, but luckily Kolivan was there to fend the large daemon off before he subtly maneuvered Keith to a safer location. The tiger still nicked him, but he was lucky no tendon snapped. Ulaz told him as much.

“I would recommend you don’t go into battle for a few days. The wound would reopen and the pain might leave you distracted. Also, there’s an increased risk of infection,” Ulaz ran his hand once over the bandage and Keith sighed in bliss when the warmth soothed the ache a little.

“If only my gift was like yours,” Keith put his arm down in his lap.

Ulaz scoffed at that, “don’t discredit yourself, you’ve saved a lot of people.”

“‘A lot’ is a hyperbole,” Keith muttered. 

“I won’t give compliment to a brat who can’t receive it,” Ulaz said sternly before turning around with gauze and a bottle of disinfectant that he handed Keith, “for when you wash yourself.”

Ulaz was one of few who knew of Keith’s habit of going to the woods to bathe, and that it often happened too late to be courteous to go back to the medical tent for a re-wrap. No problem though, Keith had been trained in first aid and battlefield surgery after they discovered what his Gift was, at least until they realized he was far better to have as an attacker.

His fire of life was better suited for the grisly conditions that allowed him to work his magic on them anyway. If they were to be taken back to the medical tent it would more often than not be too late. 

“Thank you, Ulaz,” Keith said and accepted the things, “can I go now?”

“Yes, but as I said, at least rest tomorrow, if nothing else,” Ulaz waved him off as if it was that easy. The King would have a fit if Keith wasn’t accounted for among his officer’s tomorrow. Not that Keith held a military grade of much significance, it was just his title as Prince that made him an authority in the ranks either way. Ulaz should know as much, but he doesn’t acknowledge the fact as Keith leaves. 

The sky outside is starting to bleed red as the sun goes down. Another day has passed and still no closer to the end of the war. The plan had been a failure, the explosives had barely made a dent in the thick stone of the fort, and the Kerberian king had been a force to be reckoned with. While Keith hadn’t gone toe to toe after Kolivan got him away, Antok had. Antok was a man of few words, but even he had stated that the Kerberian Champion King was a skilled fighter. Keith would take Antok at his word, because he had no desire to find out for himself.

Keith tries to think of the King of Kerberos, not Shiro. There’s an intimate warmth that spreads through him when the images of last night run past in his brain, but it twists into nausea as soon as the vision of naked skin is covered in steel and purple cloth. The gentle silver that had watched him come apart turning hard with professionalism was another favourite that his self-torturing mind liked to compare. 

Keith wants to close his eyes and take a deep breath to forget, but he’d noticed—in the middle of battle, which had been  _ terrible _ —that he still smells of the musky pine and leather. That he smells like  _ the king of Kerberos _ . He has to wash off, rub his skin raw to get the smell away. His peak was yesterday, so his body wars the desire to smell like such a wonderful alpha against his guilt at having basically fucked the king of Kerberos. Or have the king of Kerberos thigh fuck him. And eat him out. 

Rouge meows beside him, stroking against his leg in comfort. He appreciates it, but he also remembers she had been all too eager to enable him yesterday, so he clicks his tongue at her. She just chirps as if she had just delivered a punchline. He grumbles at her obvious not-remorse and heads for his tent to get his soap and a change of clothes. He has to wash the ones he’s wearing, because they surely stink of Kerberian after rubbing against his skin all day.

But, as if his tent being a thing was a standing invite, Lotor was waiting for him. While the high prince wasn’t smirking in obvious mirth, he did look patronising. Really, ever since Lotor had found out Keith was to be part of the vanguard in the war against Kerberos he’d been more insufferable than usual. 

“What do you want?” Keith asks in a no-nonsense tone, short and quippy. 

“I heard you went up against the champion king,” Lotor doesn’t sound nearly as teasing as Keith had expected him to. Actually, he seems a bit tense, probably wanting to hear just what they were up against. 

Keith just shook his head, “no, his daemon attacked me, but Kolivan helped me get away. If you want to know more uncle Antok will know.”

“He has already reported to father,” Lotor says quickly. He glances at Keith’s bandaged arm and frowns, “you’re hurt.”

“I was lucky, if Rouge hadn’t protected me, I’d come back in two pieces,” Keith hastily pulls down his sleeve to hide the bandage, “his daemon almost bit my neck off.” He heard a high pitched hiss. Mercure, Lotor’s daemon, was making irritated noises in his throat and Lotor didn’t seem inclined to silence him.

Keith rolled his eyes, “I know, I know, victory or death. I should’ve tried to kill him. Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s…” Lotor looks as if he wants to say something, looks around and thinks better of it. Keith would’ve been pissed if his cousin tried to lecture him right now. Instead, Lotor finds another topic to talk about. 

“You smell weird,” the comment sends a chill down Keith’s spine. What if he could smell the unknown alpha on him?

“I got a new soap,” Keith quickly lies and spins a whole tale of how he’d traded it with one of the soldiers in case Lotor asks, because the one thing that he has learned as the not-so-important prince is to tell a lie, and ride with it to the end. 

Lotor sniffs a little closer, and Keith almost want to push him away, but before he can his cousin straightens abruptly, a sneer pulling at his upper lip, “it stinks. Don’t use it anymore.”

Keith narrows his eyes and Rouge growls, “don’t tell me what to do with  _ my _ body.”

Lotor opens his mouth to argue the point, that if he wanted to he could tell Keith to go do whatever the high prince wanted, but once again makes the wise decision to shut up. Instead he clenches his teeth and walk away, much more rapidly than necessary. Though Keith is glad for it, he wants to go bathe, to get rid of the “soap” and clear his head. It is only when he steps outside with his change of clothes and soap under his arm that he realizes that he probably shouldn’t go to his usual spot.

Shi— _ the king of Kerberos _ , Keith corrects himself—had definitely seen him on the battlefield, and there was the chance that he would send an assassin or a small force to stake out the river. Deciding that the risk wasn’t worth it, Keith sulks and head for the baths instead.

Only to immediately regret his decision as soon as he pulls the curtain out of the way to enter. The occupants are loud, laughing and yelling with daemons barking and screeching, but it isn’t even half bad compared to the awful  _ stench _ . Keith has to slap a hand over his nose and back away to avoid gagging. It smelled of  _ so many people _ , and dirt and grime and blood and  _ just no. _

One whiff was enough to help him decide that the river would be worth a potential assassination. Rouge didn’t try to stop him as he turned heel and made his way out of camp, unseen by anyone who would care. 

The way is a lot easier to find today, the sky is still rosy and the sun has just fallen under the horizon. Keith hurries, the darker it gets the bigger chance that he would be in danger, so he steels himself for a quick and desperate dip to get his own,  _ neutral _ scent back. He jogs over the moss, avoiding fallen branches and thick bushes until he’s back on his familiar trail, Rouge following his steps in a calm trot. 

When Keith hears the purl of the water he relaxes slightly, but doesn’t fool himself into thinking he’s safe. Still, he enters the clearing around the river with his shirt already halfway off his body, only to freeze when he’s met with a sight of wonder for his sore eyes. 

Against a tree, reclining as if there was nothing wrong in the world, is Shiro and his daemon, who had his ears pointed in Keiths’ direction, but otherwise calm. 

More than a little surprised, and horrified, Keith drops his things and pulls out his knife, ready to fight for his life. Rouge stood in a similar stance, but she wasn’t making a sound, and her fur laid flat, as if there wasn’t any  _ real  _ threat. 

Seeing Shiro’s guarded but honest eyes almost convinced him there wasn’t.

“You’re back.”

Keith purses his mouth, “only because I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to be here.”

“You didn’t bring any backup, so I don’t think I’m being stupid,” Shiro smiles, a little lopsided and a lot of charming.

Still, Keith has to be on his guard. There was no guarantee Shiro would let Keith leave now that he knew Shiro was the King, “what, you don’t think I can kill you on my own?” 

“I did not think that, but I know that you don’t work when the sun is down,” Shiro looks towards the sky that is slowly getting more and more purple.

“Touché,” Keith says it mockingly but doesn’t put down his weapon. Self defense isn’t work, and Keith will make damn sure the King of Kerberos knows so if he tries anything.

Shiro doesn’t look at the blade, doesn’t look at anything but Keith’s face, doesn’t look any more threatening than he had the night before. In fact, he seems unnervingly relaxed, as if he hasn’t even realized he is a prime target to end Keith’s misery, daylight policy be damned. It is almost as if he  _ trusts _ Keith. 

Keith isn’t even sure he trusts himself that much.

“Are you here to bathe?” Shiro asks, and for the first time his eyes stray, down Keith’s body, taking in the relative lightness of his clothing compared to the night before. Keith has seen others look at him in a similar way, anticipation and lust playing over silver that isn’t filled with even half the amount of expectation Keith would have guessed.

“I was, but now camp doesn’t seem so bad compared to the stench of Kerberian,” Keith lies through his teeth because he has no wish to wash himself back there, but the  _ real _ reason he is here is to cleanse himself of the scent of alpha on him. Too bad fate had other plans and set his simple mission in direct conflict at first chance. 

“You seemed to like  _ that stench _ yesterday,” Shiro is smiling and Keith can hear the unsaid  _ you still do _ hanging in the air. He opts to say nothing, but Shiro takes it as an invite to continue talking— _ flirting _ , “I know I did.”

Keith lets out a breathy chuckle, “a narcissist, who would have guessed.”

Shiro’s cheeks darkens, and his daemon’s tail flicks back and forth, “you smelled like me.”

Keith swallows when Shiro takes a deep breath of the gentle breeze.

“You still do.”

Now it is Keith’s turn to blush, ears heating to make them bright red at the alpha’s pleased tone. The implication, that Keith’s body is so comfortable with Shiro’s scent that it hasn’t overpowered it with his own yet is telling; telling of how Keith doesn’t regret the night before even half as much as he should. 

Rouge, his enabler and constant wingman, lets her stance drop, and Kuro is immediately up as well, movements slow as he stands. Keith tries to will her back to his side, to not make it so obvious that he too wants to move forward, if only to let himself gather his thoughts a bit more. The tension falls from his grip on the knife and Shiro notices before Keith does. Just as the daemon’s breach into the water Shiro stands and Keith can’t manage the same hostility anymore.

Shiro is wearing tight clothes, no belt, no pouch, nothing that could hide a weapon but his wide sleeves. But Shiro didn’t seem like the type that would do a sneak attack and his stance is as open and non threatening as it had always been off the battlefield, Keith should know, he’s seen the man in his fully armoured glory.

“Will you come closer?” Shiro asks, mellow and already dejected, as if he’s expecting Keith to say no. Which he should, because while Keith isn’t the most devoted of Galras, he at least knows that getting close to the enemy is a poor idea. Though the look of a kicked puppy upon the beefy man’s face is devastating to his willpower, crumbling it to dust faster than Keith would like to admit.

Carefully, Keith takes a step forward, knife still in hand, just in case. Shiro perks up, but he still doesn’t move forward, not until Keith drops his shoulders and relaxes just a tiny bit. The king seems eager, hurrying forward until he dips his feet in the water, the cold seemingly reminding him that Keith could still thrust a steely blade into his back.

Keith glances at Rouge, feeling nothing but content from her as she rubs her cheek all over Kuro’s chest. The tiger doesn't protest, standing still and gently licking the back of Rouge’s neck whenever he could reach it. Keith shudders, because while daemons can be trained to hide emotions, they can’t lie. 

So Keith faces Shiro, seeing the hopeful light in the alpha’s silver stare, and it cuts Keith’s defenses like a blade. He tilts his head, just a little, an invite that Shiro accepts with bumbling steps. The man doesn’t even take off his boots before he goes across the stream, entirely focused on Keith and the curve of his neck. He should be backing away, should maybe raise his knife and plunge it into the king’s stomach, but instead Keith finds himself tilting his head further, a soft breath escaping when he feels the tip of Shiro’s nose against the sensitive skin of his neck. 

A low, satisfied rumble leaves Shiro when he takes a lungful of Keith’s scent— _ their _ scent—and he can feel his self control struggle to not follow his willpower into nothingness. But the low purr of the alpha makes Keith’s knees go weak and he has to lean into the warmth of the other to keep upright, to have some kind of support. Lips settle gently against his scent gland then, and Keith lets out a far too vulnerable moan.

“You hesitated,” Keith whispered, trying to find something,  _ anything _ , that would help him resist the temptation to lose himself to the alpha’s touch, “you could have killed me.”

“So did you,” Shiro is calm, fingers coming up to carefully tug the front of Keith’s shirt free from where it had been tucked. 

“I was just shocked that I had been fucking the  _ king _ of our enemy not even half a day earlier,” Keith doesn’t protest, hopes that actual  _ touch _ will snap him out of this stupor.

“Hm, I don’t think we got that far,” Shiro let his fingers spread over Keith’s stomach, the muscles under them shivering at the light touch. Shiro’s hand was warm, and Keith found himself craving more of that heat on him, pressing himself against the large palm that gently stroke his skin. Careful nails rake downwards, making Keith’s stomach tie in a delicate little bow that tickled in  _ certain  _ places.

Keith didn’t miss the implication either, didn’t miss how Shiro strokes his stomach as if he had to be gentle with it, and Keith couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Are you sure you’d want your only child wasted on a Galran mother?” Keith teased, breath catching in his throat when Shiro took hold of his waist, pulling him close. Sharp teeth grazed the skin of his neck, and Keith shivered against the strong frame he pressed into.

“I don’t think  _ you’d _ be a waste,” Shiro growls, his tone making Keith’s toes curl. 

“You sure know what to say,” Keith mumbles, but he can hear the way a pleased purr slips out along with his words.

“Only for you, baby,” Shiro says as he presses a careful, feather light kiss to Keith’s neck. 

Keith trembles at the pet name, fingers clenching in Shiro’s shirt to keep himself upright. The silky, low voice chuckles a little when Shiro has to wrap an arm around Keith’s waist to help his trembling knees. He eases them down to the ground, and Keith is stubbornly clinging on, taking Shiro down with him. The lips never leaves his skin, and Keith is quivering when he is set down in the grass.

Large hands settle at Keith’s waist, warmth spreading along his side, through the cotton of his shirt and into his very being. Shiro’s nails dig into his back as a purchase before he pulls up the barrier of cloth, untucking it and letting Shiro’s fingers grace skin directly. Marred skin is left in his wake as his nails contrast the soft heat of his mouth and Keith is left dizzy with the sensation. His own fingers card through Shiro’s hair, who’s letting out small, keening noises whenever he feels a particularly pleasurable ministration. 

Shiro groans in appreciation any time Keith responds to him, laying his body flat against the man under him, making every shift, every little movement a unison. Keith would have been embarrassed by how turned on he was by Shiro’s abs rubbing against his dick, but want and arousal took all of his brain capacity. He squeezes his thighs against Shiro’s ribcage in encouragement, using it as leverage to grind against the defined muscles he can feel, even through the layers of clothing. 

Feeling the movements, Shiro presses down, letting Keith use his torso for his own pleasure as Shiro greedily exposes Keith’s chest for his own tasting. The alpha clenches his muscles just as Keith grinds up, the bumps and valleys a lovely texture for his cock to grind against. Small thrills run up his spine every time he moves and feels Shiro’s cock press against his ass through their clothes. 

_ Gods _ , he wants that inside him.

”It feels good,” Keith sighs, eyes closed and lip pulling between his teeth to concentrate on all the pleasure his playmate gives him instead of what could have been.

Shiro rumbles in content, ”use me however you want baby. Take whatever you want.”

Keith shudders and arches, a sudden but slow pleasure rolling over him when the pet name vibrates against his neck. He clings to Shiro’s broad shoulders, trembling through his orgasm. The low timber of Shiro’s pleased purrs extending the feeling of content and  _ just enough _ . 

Shiro is still licking and kissing in languid motions across Keith’s chest, savouring the taste of the perspiration and oils from his glands. Keith’s legs fall open, unable to keep them wrapped around the man in his arms. He’s spent, and wonder how Shiro wants to get off tonight. His own mouth itch for contact, and the thought of his lips wrapped around Shiro’s large cock almost makes him hard again. 

Tugging gently at the alpha’s hair, Keith makes him look up, eyes glazed and breath coming in hard grunts as he tears his attention from Keith’s chest to his face. The command is heard without being uttered and Shiro crawls up to give Keith a kiss, slow and wet. Their tongues chase and pull, teeth teasing and nipping carefully in a way that seems almost practiced. Keith marvels at how natural it feels to kiss Shiro, as if he’d spent a lifetime doing it. 

It is with great difficulty Keith breaks the kiss, despite Shiro’s best attempt at keeping his bottom lip hostage, and the alpha mewls in negligence. ”Don’t you want to come too?” Keith asks, eyes drawn down to where their chests meet. 

Shiro shakes his head, dipping down to whisper in Keith’s ear: “nothing is sexier than your pleasure, baby.” Then he rolls his hips forward and Keith purrs in satisfaction when he feels how Shiro’s cock is softening. Keith’s release had been enough, and it makes his entire body preen with pride.

“You’re such a pillow talker,” Keith says to hide the fact that being called by a pet name makes butterflies overtake his stomach.

“Imagine what it'd be like with actual pillows” Shiro mumbles against the crook of Keith's neck, distracted by the scent concentrated there. 

Keith does—instantly regretting it because the image of the two of them among silks and velvet as the sun settles outside large floor to ceiling windows aches with its impossibility—but snorts in reply before he pushes at the alpha enjoying the afterglow a little too much. He came here to wash off, and that task is feeling more and more stressed since Keith must by now be oozing scent of  _ other _ . His family would no doubt be suspicious if he smelled even  _ more  _ after going to take a bath, and soap wouldn't cut it as explanation.

Still, when Keith moves away Shiro is following, just a step behind, and Keith senses the implication before he even has time to finger at the hem of his shirt. “You're not washing me.”

Almost as if he had been a puppy and the words had been a kick, Shiro deflates and looks as if he's about to sulk. It's comical, watching such a big, broad guy shrink into himself at the mere mention of not letting him act nurturing. Back home it was the opposite, the burly alpha's tried to make themselves disappear as soon as any kind of emotional labor was needed. That's why his mom hadn't wanted to marry an alpha, and why she rarely let any relative but Ulaz or Thace care for her child. 

Shiro clamps his mouth shut, and probably swallows a protest. Similarly, Keith holds back a snicker before he peels his shirt off. Keith hurries to undress and submerge himself in the water, without looking to see if Shiro is joining him. He’s careful to keep his arm out of the stream, laying it on the grass to be able to relax. He’s facing the other way, but he still hears Shiro approach, feels his presence behind him. There’s an awkward pause that Keith doesn’t know what to do with so he turns, wondering if Shiro is still sulking that he won’t be performing any grooming tonight. But when he turns to look at the king again he sees a serious, narrow-eyed expression that couldn’t be called anything but disgust.

It throws Keith off-guard. That expression was so far from anything he’d ever seen on Shiro’s face, private or commander wise. There’s a prickling feeling unfolding along his spine, he doesn’t  _ like _ Shiro looking at him like that. It is totally undeserved and Keith feels a growl starting to bubble in his throat when Shiro opens his mouth. 

“Your arm…” there’s a sense of blame in his tone, and Keith realizes Shiro is upset with _ himself _ .

“Huh?” the fight dies before it can start as Keith glance down at the bandages, “oh, yeah, thanks for that one.”

Shiro winces before kneeling in front of Keith and reaching forward, palm facing up, “let me clean if for you.”

Keith freezes. He knows what that gesture means; his instincts knows what it means and they want him to preen. Kneeling is a symbol of servitude, the open palm a display of devotion. If he ignores Shiro’s gesture he’s sure it would hurt the other a lot, an action Keith would have seen as manipulative if Shiro hadn’t been looking so steeled for rejection. There’s no reason Keith can think of that would make Shiro do this; it isn’t a move you pull with a casual interest, at least not in any part of the Galra empire. 

Blood rushes to Keith’s face when the thought of ever having  _ more _ with Shiro burns behind his retinas. 

“It isn’t dirty but…” Keith turns a little more and presents his arm to the alpha, who looks a little bewildered at the action, bewildered Keith hadn’t hissed and told him to back off probably. Keith is too. 

He should. He should reject it. Should say no, get away. There’s so much he should do that he isn’t.

There’s a revering quality to when Shiro’s fingers gently wrap around Keith’s wrist, holding it still while he loosens the bandage and pursing his lips when he sees the wounds beneath. Kuro mewls miserably in the background, an apology contained in the tone. Keith would glance over, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the way Shiro’s brows knit in displeasure and concentration.

Shiro’s fingers are soft against his skin. Calloused from endless hours of practicing with a sword most likely, but the thick skin isn’t coarse, and Keith feels no pain even when the pads of those fingers skim over his injury. Somewhere in the back of Keith’s mind a small voice is telling him this is the opposite of cleaning, but it is resolutely ignored in favour of the tiny chills and sparks that spreads under his skin where Shiro touches him. 

All of a sudden those sparks overtake the chills and Keith can feel the quintessence inside him spark to life when Shiro places his hand over the wounds. For a moment Keith’s heart rate spikes; his magic only ever flares to life like this in much more dire situations. But it lasts less than a second before he feels a soothing warmth spread through his arm, through his body. 

There’s a purple glow beneath Shiro’s palm, pressing against Keith’s skin, entrancing him with the way he can feel his quintessence respond to it. Unlike the searing sensation he’s used to this is a controlled, comforting heat. Keith basks in the feeling, closing his eyes and leaning forward, placing his chin against his other arm on the bank to relax. He can’t remember the last time he felt this kind of warm, not since he came to the battlefield and well before that, probably. 

The lingering discomfort in his arm is completely gone, and Keith lays there, purring and—

Startled with the realization, Keith’s head snap up, and apparently his movement is so sudden that Shiro loses concentration. The glow from his palm disappears and he looks a little dazed himself when he looks at Keith. There’s sweat dripping down from his temple; obviously he hadn’t been feeling the same satisfaction as Keith. 

“A-are you alright?” Shiro’s voice is dry and he has to swallow to stop the stutter. 

Keith blinks and gets up on his knees, “I should be asking you that.”

“You were purring,” Shiro states matter of factly, self-critical, “then you just…”

A flush overtakes Keith’s features as he stubbornly stares at the ground. Post-sex purring was one thing, but purring because his innermost essence was responding so positively to Shiro’s? That’s a level of embarrassing that should be impossible to feel. He barely knows this man; how could his body and mind betray him like this?

“I-it’s nothing…” Keith coughs and tugs a little at his arm so Shiro will let go. The alpha does without question, but he still seems puzzled by Keith’s behaviour. 

To Keith’s surprise, his skin is healed, only scarring where the wounds have previously been. He stares a moment, then back at Shiro, who looks like a wreck, “you...you have healing powers?”

That doesn’t make any sense. Keith had seen what Shiro was capable off on the battlefield; the air of the battle had vibrated with power when Antok challenged Shiro to allow Kolivan and Keith to escape. There was no healing property of the sword that had glowed purple and cut through Antok’s blades like they were made of butter. 

“No, not  _ real _ healing,” Shiro says and shakes his head when he sees that Keith wants to ask more, “my magic is...different.”

The exhaustion is palpable on Shiro’s frame. Whatever he did to the wounds had taken a lot out of him, and that’s after Ulaz had already worked his magic on them. 

“Why don’t you join me?” Keith asks and motions for Shiro to come into the water, it's the least he can do to repay Shiro for his kindness. The king smiles tiredly and accepts the invitation.

Before he undresses.

“Woah, hey, those needs to come off first,” Keith grabs Shiro’s leg just as he was about to step down into the stream. Shiro seems disoriented for a moment before he nods in understanding and starts to peel of his boots and clothes.

When he’s in full naked glory, Shiro shudders as he descends into the water next to Keith. Taking pity, Keith moves closer, using his wet hand to carefully wipe away the sweat that had beaded at Shiro’s brow. “Thank you, Shiro,” he says, continuing to scoop water up and dripping it over the other’s chest and shoulders. 

“Don’t thank me,” Shiro says and lolls his head to the side to look Keith in the eye, “I was the one who hurt you.”

“Actually, it was your disobedient kitten over there,” Keith glances over to see Kuro lying on his side, panting, while Rouge grooms him gently. 

“So technically it was me,” Shiro grunts, “or do Galra not believe that daemons are a part of yourself?”

“I guess we see them as more of an extension of ourselves, more instinctual,” Keith places his hand on Shiro’s jaw, “more honest.”

Shiro also peers over at their daemons and smiles a little before he reaches to pull Keith closer, into his lap. Keith allows it because...he doesn’t know why, actually. He shouldn’t be getting this close. Better late than never, but he has to put some distance between them; he can’t keep on getting pulled along by the whims of some Kerberian king. 

Except, it’s so damn  _ hard _ to push away those big hands on his hips, or to resist the pull of those soft lips that are softly curling upwards while silver eyes reflect gentle moonlight. Keith has never felt so—so calm in the presence of another. It defies all logic, he should be on high alert, fear for his life and grab his knife to slit this man’s throat. But he can’t. There’s something about Shiro that completely strips him of his prickly defenses, awakening feelings Keith thinks has no place in a one-night-turned-two-stand. Maybe he is just starved for affection, for closeness, drained of too much humanity after months,  _ years _ of fighting.

He tests it, tentatively, carefully, as if he expects Shiro’s lips will burn if he touches them with his own. And burn they do, but not in the way that makes one pull away in startled pain. Instead there’s a flame inside him, one that’s always there, that flares up and licks at his very being when he feels Shiro’s pleased sigh and kiss in return for his own. 

~*~*~*~

There’s no threat when they part ways, only a feeling of mutual understanding for each other’s position. They spent almost an hour in the water and despite having each other’s body heat they both were freezing when they emerged. 

Keith still feels freezing when he returns to camp, but the furnace in his tent has thankfully been lit by someone so it’s warm. He buries himself in between blankets and plaids, Rouge curling up on top of him to help him fight off the chill in his bones. He forgets about supper, forgets about the strategy meeting, and drifts off to sleep with the memories of Shiro’s lips on his.

~*~*~*~

Their nightly meetings continue. Keith tries to tell himself it’s because he wants to bathe and Shiro just so happens to be there, but a week in and Keith hasn’t even brought a towel to the evening’s forray. 

Usually Shiro is first, already at their unspoken meeting place, but tonight Keith arrives to an empty clearing. Rouge makes a noise of displeasure at the absence of the pair they had expected. She prances around, sniffing the ground and trying to keep herself busy by diving into the bushes, probably expecting to catch Kuro if she tried hard enough. But the night dragged on. It was only an hour of waiting later Keith told himself enough was enough. He couldn’t spend the entire night waiting, because they never promised anything, after all. As he gets up to leave Rouge makes one final jump and instead of emerging after a few seconds with obvious dignity there’s a happy meow and additional rustling. 

Keith’s heart picks up its pace in anticipation when he sees Kuro’s yellow eyes peek through the dark foliage of the bushes, but only Rouge follows him, not his master. Cocking his head, he waits for Kuro to approach. The large tiger nearly reaches Keith’s chest while standing, and his head is in perfect height to present Keith with a scroll container he has securely between his teeth. It’s not as slobbered as Keith expected when it falls into his hand.

Inside it there’s a letter. Or maybe it’s a note, Keith rarely receives either so he doesn’t really know the difference. There’s cursive writing matched with a little drawing of a tiger and human in a heap. It’s a cute, _ ugly  _ cute, drawing and Keith finds himself smiling before reading even one word.

_ “To Keith. _

_ I am sorry I could not meet with you tonight, my retainers won’t let me out of their sight until my boring meeting is over.  _

_ I wish I was with you instead. _

_ Love, _

_ Shiro.” _

Keith feels his face warm at the letter and tries but is unable to hide his pleased smile. 

Shiro wants to be here with him. 

It is only after the fifth time he reads the letter he realizes that  _ Kuro _ is the messenger and Shiro is still back at the mountain fortress. It’s excruciating to be separated from your daemon for extended periods of time, the longer the distance the worse the pain. Keith has heard that those who have bird daemons are less affected by it due to the nature of birds, but Kuro is a tiger, a feline. 

A lump gathers in Keith’s throat. Shiro and Kuro both must be hurting so bad right now, but still, they deemed it worth it just to let Keith know he wasn’t coming tonight. Keith wishes he’d have something to write with so he could set that stupid king straight for doing something so reckless for such a reason. 

Blood would be a bit overkill, and nothing in the clearing would work as a makeshift tool of writing, so Keith instead took the paper and brought it to his neck. He pressed the paper to his gland, hoping he could transfer all these complicated and conflicting emotions to the sender. It was a poor way of communicating over distance, but Keith couldn’t just  _ not  _ answer when Shiro had gone to such lengths. 

His hands tremble just slightly when he rolls the paper up and puts it back in the container. Kuro has been affectionately nuzzling Rouge while Keith has been busy with the letter, but his focus return to Keith when the human leans down to present the cylinder to the tiger daemon.

“Thank you, for giving this to me,” Keith says and reaches out to pet the overgrown cat. Kuro lets out a happy mewl at the praise, as if to say “my pleasure” when Keith knows he must be hurting right now. Unable to stop himself after that thought, Keith surges forward, hugging the tiger tightly. 

“Don’t do this again, you idiots,” Keith says into the soft fur, kissing the tiger’s cheek despite himself. Rouge is purring like a madman and despite the pain he must be in, Kuro joins her with his deep rumble. It is difficult to let go, but Keith knows he shouldn’t keep the daemon any longer, he and his master is suffering enough as is. 

Kuro seems less enthused to be returning to his master than Keith had expected. He cuddles both Keith and Rouge twice each before Keith decidedly tells him to  _ go home _ . Still, the tiger looks back every other step to try and see if Keith’s stern gaze softens, to no avail. Only when the tip of the tail disappears into the bushes and he can hear the rustle of leaves going further and further away does Keith relax again. Rouge is looking at him with pitiable eyes, but he refuses to feel guilty for this one.

“It’s better this way, they shouldn’t be separated,” Keith explains and Rouge grunts like she understands, but doesn’t like it any better. 

With the knowledge that he won’t be getting any company tonight, Keith returns to camp. It’s soon time for the evening meal, and probably a meeting with the king soon after if the latest week’s routine held steadfast. Keith heads for his tent; he figures he might as well get changed into formal dress before dinner, so he could take his leisurely time when trying to eat the tasteless food instead of inhaling it to make it to the meeting in time.

Just as Keith flips his shirt away to his bed in favour of his standard under-armour shirt he hears rustling behind him. He turns and expect to see his mother, because she’s the only one with permission to come into his tent without announcing herself, but his words die on his tongue when he instead sees his  _ dear _ cousin.

“Ah, you’re back,” Lotor says and racks his eyes over Keith’s naked upper body.

In a quiet show of the expression _ fucking creep _ Keith shoves his shirt over his head and pulls it down, completely covering him again, “what do you want?”

“You were gone,” Lotor says as if that explains anything. When Keith doesn’t utter a word in response, Lotor clarifies, “there’s a meeting tonight.”

“I figured. Your dad likes to talk,” Keith rolls his eyes and grabs his belt, “I’m getting ready. Do you mind?”

Apparently, Lotor does, because he isn’t backing away, no. Instead, he takes a step forward and since the tents are tiny and Lotor has long legs, he’s already in Keith’s immediate space. Rouge hisses in warning that no, this is not ok—but neither Lotor nor Mercure cares about her raised hackles. Mercure approaches her without hesitation and sniffs at her, much like the way Lotor takes a deep breath far too close to Keith to be anything but a scenting. 

Rouge and Keith both lash out at the same time, one with claws and one with a harsh shove. The snow leopard snarls in obvious disdain and anger just as Keith growls out, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Lotor’s eyes are narrowed, a slight wrinkle to his nose, “you stink.”

“Excuse me?” Keith feels his temper flaring even more at the insult than at the disservice he was subjected to when Lotor smelled him.

“You stink,” Lotor says and reaches forward to twirl a strand of Keith’s hair around his finger, “of  _ alpha _ .”

Panic bubbles up in Keith’s throat, “so what?”

His voice isn’t nearly as threatening as he wants it to be when he slaps Lotor’s hand away from him, anything to put distance between them. Really, Lotor has no business with who Keith sleeps with, or if he has any kind of relationship out in the field. It’s the worst kept secret of the army that the soldiers seek out their companions for physical comfort and even though Keith has been exempt of that common practice there was nothing saying he couldn’t do it if he wished so. He wasn’t engaged with anyone, and his mother had the final say in his engagement anyway. No one but his mother and uncles cared who he spent his time with out here (which is also why he had tried his damndest to avoid them all week).

“Who is it?” Lotor has the gall to ask, and bares his teeth, to boot.

Keith gives him a returning hiss, giving the pomptuous prince a good push that sends him stumbling out the tent. Mercure follows with a pitiful squeak when Rouge chases him out to join his master. Lotor looks a little stunned at being thrown out, but Keith just snarls at him to mind his own business before closing the cloth that acts as his door with as much hostility he can.

Only when he sees his hands trembling as he releases the heavy weave does Keith realize he was  _ scared _ . 

If Lotor finds out who he has been seeing he'll be killed for treason. 

There was always a risk, Keith had been aware of it. But now when Lotor had taken notice, and  _ interest _ to boot, it would be even more difficult to keep his thrysts a secret. If the prince wished, he could send a spy to follow Keith, and while Keith was careful when venturing out of camp he couldn't risk clueing Lotor's ever vigilant personal guard in on his secret. 

He'd have to think of something.

Somehow  _ 'just don't go and see him _ ’ was the last idea that popped up in his head.

Frowning, Keith continues putting on his armour and goes to the mess tent. There's nothing impressive about the meal, except the cook's ability to make carrots taste like nothing. They were just  _ chopped _ for heaven's sake. 

There are no answers to his questions, just like in the war council. Discussions bounce back and forth, but no solid plan makes itself known. 

King Zarkon wants to focus the effort in taking down the Kerberian king, but he hasn't been on the field since that first day. The Galran king calls it mockery; the king of Kerberos only announced his presence, but hasn't deemed the opposition worthy of his efforts beyond that. Keith almost wants to tell the old fool that  _ their _ king can't be bothered to even show himself on the battlefield. 

Much less in the medic tents where his fighters lay wounded and dying for his cause.

The meeting reaches a standstill, like every other night. King Zarkon's mood sours further when no one comes with suggestions, no plans. They have tried it all; shock tactics, ranged attacks, head on assault, infiltration. Nothing has worked, and the Galran army is merely marching out to a slow decemation at this rate. 

Suggesting  _ that _ to the king would be a much quicker way to the arms of death though.

Another fruitless meeting, everyone goes to bed thinking of the needless lives that will be lost tomorrow just because they  _ have  _ to.

xXx

Three days later Keith hasn't gone to the forest once. The battles has been endless like usual but Keith hasn't wanted to put his neck out just in case his mystery partner is still in the forefront of the prince's mind. Today though, his hands are stained with blood. It has seeped into the fabric he wears, spreading under his armour and tinging the air around him with the unmistakable stench of iron. 

He's in the medical tent again, but not because he's hurt. This time he's here for all those who needed his help. All the beds are occupied by the wounded even though some of them will be good to go as soon as they wake up. Some won't be though, and Keith sits at the bedside of one such soldier. 

_ Gods, he's barely old enough to enlist. _

The fragile looking boy that lays on the bed is lanky, coming from a life where food was always an issue by the looks of it. He must have enlisted to provide some coin to his family, or as a way to have a place to belong to if he no longer had one. Bile rises in Keith's throat—the empire was so stretched for resources they accepted  _ children _ into their ranks.

Seeing someone so young, someone who would never chose the life of a soldier if it wasn't the only way, lay dying for the sake of a king that didn't care about his subjects in turn was appalling. His stomach was pierced by the ugly end of a spear, wound so large his intestines had been in danger of falling out. 

It was grizzly to look at, but Keith steeled himself as he took off his gloves. The blood of the many wounded had stained his skin red and he desperately wants to wipe them clean even though he will just have to defile them again with the blood of both friend and foe.

Keith sets his hands on top of the wounded soldier's torso, on either side of the wound. He closes his eyes in concentration and murmurs a prayer—that he can do this, that his powers will prove themselves useful and not  _ fuck up _ —and the energy inside him roars to life. 

It starts at the palms of his hands; flame burst forth and licks their ways up his arms. Their colour shift from yellow and red to blue and finally a white that flicker with every colour of the rainbow. It's more difficult to push his magic into the soldier’s body to heal him than usual and Keith wills the quintessence to flow through him. The flames continue to take over his body but they do not hurt, they comfort and warm him.They continue to overtake his form, dancing atop his shoulders, spreading down his chest and starting to fester in his hair. 

The weak energy he feels from the soldier under his hands is only getting thinner, and Keith desperately tries to reignite it with his own. Almost viciously, he surges his quintessence through his hands and into the soldier, but there is nothing, he can no longer feel the lifeforce, no matter how he searches and—

“Keith!”

As if a spell had been broken Keith's concentration is shattered; the flames disperse in a moment, as if they had never been there, but still roars beneath his skin.

Ulaz stands next to him, eyes stern but tinged with worry, “there is nothing you can do.”

Keith blinks for a moment before he looks down on his hands and sees the long, sharp nails that has grown. The wound is gone, and all that is left in its wake is his own bloody handprints. Still, the soldier does not move.

He jerks back and stands abruptly, knocking over the stool he had been sitting on on his way. The loud noise startles a lot of the personnel in the tent, and they all stop to stare at him. Their looks makes Keith's stomach turn— _ useless _ —and he hurries to leave, pushing past Ulaz who holds up his hands as if he thought of stopping his nephew. He thinks he hears whispers of old scorn behind him as he walks out the tent and tries to ignore it. 

As he hurries through the camp he sees his mother and his feet automatically carries him towards her until his thoughts catch up with his body. He can already see the crease in her brow if she sees his hands, so he turns and goes the other way. He doesn't really register that he's at the edge of camp, and Rouge isn't trying to stop him as she stalks his every step. 

The forest is quiet until Keith starts stumbling through the greenery. He breaks twigs and blindly wanders forward, having no clear thought of where he's going except  _ not back. _ He doesn't fully register where he is heading until he hears the sound of water and he realizes he's close to his usual path. His feet move faster as he approaches the clearing, hands working on all the straps and buckles he needs to loosen to get rid of his armour. 

When he breeches the line of trees his clothing start dropping one by one in a trail behind him. Rouge sinks into the water with the same hurry as her master, but instead of washing she presses up against Keith's back as he furiously scrubs and scratches at his skin to try and erase the feeling of his power that still drums under his skin. The long nails leave scratches all over his skin and more and more blood pours forth, invalidating his efforts to wash the red away. 

Rouge purrs in anxiety, butting her head against Keith to try and get him to stop, but he doesn't notice. His nails travel upwards, scratching at his arms and shoulders, trying to get the feeling of the fire to leave his veins. But the blood that beads from the small wounds doesn't help; it makes it worse. 

The flames are trying to burst out of him, and the blood that drips down his body feels like an ugly reminder. 

A reminder that his best is never enough.

Suddenly he's pushed hard and falls forward, submerging entirely. He swallows a mouthful of water but heavy paws on his back keep him down and his mind flashes in blind panic as he flails. It feels like minutes pass by before he manages to get out from under the daemon pressing down on him and he breathes air greedily when he breaks the surface. 

Coughs rack his body, a bit of dry heaving as well keeps him from turning and glaring at his daemon. It is only when he does turn to her that he sees the distress she's in; tail standing at attention and ears pushed back. Her teeth are bared, but the sound she makes is closer to suffering than anything else. Every dry part of her fur is fluffed up, and her eyes look wet. 

There's no clarity, no explanation immediately comes to Keith as he stares at her as she approaches him. He'd never reject her, but he doesn't understand her motivation for holding him under water until her rough tongue comes out to nurse his bleeding arm. 

Oh.

The scritch of her tongue almost hurts more than the myriad of little wounds all over him, but he lets her keep at it. She had submerged him to distract him, to make him forget the fire coursing through him and the memories that came with it. The immediate threat to his life overpowered everything else and it helped, he felt clearer. He set a hand on top of her head and made her look up. 

“Thank you, Red,” Keith says as he presses his forehead to hers. She chirps happily at the nickname and her human's appreciation. The forehead touch isn't enough, and soon Keith has a lapful of affectionate cat that rubs her cheeks to every place she can reach without leaving her throne.

Keith breathes a heavy sigh and hug her tighter, she deserves the pamper after all. Keith scoots back so he can sit against the bank of the stream, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as Rouge settles against him and purrs so much her entire body vibrating with it. The sound and feeling of his daemon so close to him is so soothing Keith drifts off, despite the cold water. The fire within him is quelled, buried deep inside himself—where he can contain it and the thoughts that come with it.

The sun is setting when Keith comes to, and it is with quivering lips he lets out a groan as he feels water splash in his face.

“Keith?!” a voice says, or maybe they shout. It is more like a bang that has Keith jerking awake than anything. He's disoriented for a second before he feels Rouge moving off him and he lays eyes on beautiful silver. 

“Shiro…” Keith whispers, reaching for the man before him. His limbs are stiff, and he realizes it isn't just the uncomfortable sleeping position that hampers his movements. As soon as he's aware of the cold his body starts to shake, his teeth clack together rapidly and his skin is a mix between sickly white and ugly blue all over.

Without warning he's pulled out of the water and carried over to where Kuro is anxiously waiting. 

“God Keith, what are you doing?” Shiro mutters, he probably meant for it to sound harsh, but the trepidation is thick in his voice. 

Keith doesn't say anything because he doesn't have a good answer. He probably can't speak right now either way; his jaw is tense and his neck muscles hurt from the chattering. There's no way he's getting out a word, let alone a full sentence in his current condition. 

Shiro seems aware of this too and doesn't prompt, just place Keith down on the ground before he grabs the cloth he brought for washing as he starts drying Keith off with vigorous movement. He hesitates at Keith's arms and chest, but ultimately he dries them too, much more carefully than the rest of his body. When he's sufficiently dry, Keith is laid against Kuro's side and the large tiger does his best to try and cover as much of Keith as possible while also paying attention to and grooming Rouge. 

The fur he lays against help the cold some, but his entire front is still exposed. Just as he tries to burrow further into the fluffy warmth he's resting against Shiro is there again, pulling his shirt and trousers off. He settles next to Keith, laying his shirt over them as best he can, along with his towel. He draws Keith's legs up so he's curled up and easier to keep protected from the chilling air. Keith falls into Shiro's warmth, pressing against his broad, naked chest. 

“Keith…” Shiro mumbles again as he pulls Keith towards him, wrapping his arms and legs around the freezing man. He tucks Keith against him, laying him to breathe in the strong scent of the glands on the alpha's neck.

Keith only whimpers in reply. He can hear,  _ feel _ , Shiro's heart beating frantically. Is he afraid? What for? Shiro is the king of Kerberos, he has nothing to fear, not when even the Galran army couldn't breach their walls and their soldiers die in vain on the plains. Keith doesn't say that though, he closes his eyes and takes one deep breath of Shiro's scent. Somehow it soothes him, body relaxing somewhat so his teeth stop clicking against each other so violently.

There's only silence, the wind barely rustles the forest. Keith wants to sleep, but each time his head droop too much Shiro jostles him slightly, not enough to startle, but enough to keep him awake. 

They go one like that, until Keith is no longer shivering. Shiro's chest rumbles when Keith fully relaxes against him, and he places a kiss to Keith's hair. The deep purrs soothe them both, and soon Keith his joining him with his own. 

“Thank you, Shiro,” Keith mouths against the king's neck.

“What happened?” Shiro asks, but it isn't judgemental.

Keith keeps quiet though. He doesn't want to burden Shiro with the knowledge that another person lost their life in the fight to breach the Kerberian defenses. Doesn't want Shiro to know that Keith failed to save them when he  _ should have _ .

He tries to hide away against the crook of Shiro's neck, and the alpha lets him. His arms, still stiff but no longer painfully so, comes up to wrap around Shiro's torso, holding him tight just like the king does to him. Shiro nuzzles him affectionately in return, and Keith finds himself mirroring that, too. 

“Please don't do that again,” Shiro murmurs, hot breath fanning over Keith's ear, “it is only getting colder.”

The unspoken trepidation leaves Keith shocked; if Shiro hadn't gotten here he might not have woken up at all. 

Like the soldier he couldn't save. He had been  _ too late _ .

A whimper leaves him and he clings tighter to Shiro, trying to keep the whelm of emotion at bay with Shiro as his anchor. But after the first sound is out more come, and Keith can barely keep them from becoming sobs. 

“S-Shiro,” Keith cries lowly, desperate for comfort. Shiro gives it, enveloping Keith in his big arms.

“Shh, I'm here baby,” Shiro mumbles softly, sweeping his hands up and down Keith's back.

Keith continues to cry. The emotions bubble inside him and spill over, but Shiro doesn’t look. He let’s Keith keep out of sight, offering whatever privacy he can, yet unmoving in his support. Keith wished he could have this, always. Someone to cry on, someone who wouldn’t pry deeper when he wasn’t ready for it. Again Keith is coming to quick terms with his vulnerability when it comes to Shiro, and the way his walls all crumble without prompting. 

Shiro makes him feel vulnerable, naked. But he never felt safer in his life.

With a ragged breath, Keith murmurs against Shiro’s skin, “I don’t want to fight any more.”

There’s an agreeing rumble from Shiro who squeezes Keith just so, letting him know the feeling is mutual. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Keith siffles, wiping at his wet cheeks, “I can’t run, I can’t  _ not _ fight.”

Shiro is quiet for a moment, then he takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

“Come with me,” he says, no,  _ asks _ , “to Kerberos.”

Keith groans, irritation making itself known in his chest, “I just told you, I can’t!”

“Deserting isn’t what I meant, not outright, anyway.”

At that Keith rubs his face furiously and looks up at Shiro who, to his credit, looks a little unsure at seeing Keith’s glare. Shiro huffs a little at the scepticism he’s met with, but it is wholly deserved without an explanation. 

“The next time I step on the battlefield, engage me,” Shiro says, gaze unwavering, “become my prisoner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to have more content but I also felt like it was never-ending and stuffed enough as it is, so.  
> It also dawned upon me as I wrote the last half how much of a clusterfuck of tropes this is but I shall prevail, this will be my one stamp of shame that I won't bury in the forgotten parts of the interweb.
> 
> Note on magic: Magic is essentially the manipulation of internal quintessence. In this universe every person has a unique way of doing this. Ulaz for example uses healing magic and Antok can coat his weapons with fire. Quintessence is like daemons hereditary. The royals of the Galra has some type of affinity with fire, but not all are destructive, as proved by Ulaz who uses fire healing magic (ask final fantasy about this one). Quintessence can be extracted from nature and used in spell casting outside of a person's natural ability, but this requires training or special craftsmanship and is extremely dangerous if used incorrectly, like the canon quintessence, essentially.
> 
> Also note on how Keith is related to all the other Galra royals: Krolia is Zarkon's first cousin. Lotor and Keith share their paternal and maternal great grandparents, respectively. Kolivan, Ulaz and Thace are Krolias older brothers while Antok is a bastard half-brother, though they "justify" his presence in the court and army's higher ranks as Kolivan's mate. This is a royal family, not having incest is weirder than having it lol. Not sure how physical Kolivan and Antok are though, they are basically this universe's version of paper married, so I leave the details up to your imagination. Also, Zarkon, Lotor, Antok and Kolivan are alphas, Krolia and Thace are betas while Ulaz is an omega. Keith's dad isn't royal, but he is a captain of the civil guard, which is why he isn't out on the battlefield; he's guarding the capital. Also, Keith is 6th in line for the throne, since Zarkon has no siblings and Keith's family is his closest relation (Antok, being a bastard, is exempt from the line). 
> 
> Phew, I'm gonna go to bed now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly who didn't see that coming? Keith sure didn't, the poor boy is awful at predictions.
> 
> A little not about omegas and their heats:  
> Omegas do not go into heat unprompted. They have a monthly cycle, but it’s just a slight spike in their scent and a sexual urge similar to an ordinary woman ovulating. Omegas only enter heat when their cycle falls after they have mated or found someone they view as a potential mate. Similar that alphas can smell an omega around their ovulation and in heat but they do not enter a rut unless they are with their mate.
> 
> Come yell at me on twitter @lexificlets


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